Absolutely No reason Why
by Belamancer
Summary: I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but the getting there should be fun... I'd appreciate any advice or ideas. NEW CHAPTER. ANd yes, here we go, see if you can figure out what's going on...
1. Steve's Story

No reason why.

It was late, and consequently dark. And cold, outside at least, but thankfully not in here. A man is standing at a bar, a stack of empty glasses beside him. A casual observer might wonder if he's trying to drown his sorrows, and perhaps in another world some enigmatic character would come up to him and start a conversation along these lines, but there are no casual, enigmatic observers. 

No one notices him.

He is watching the news, on the small portable t.v. that the bartender has put on the counter, with an odd fascination, akin to the look of one who has just seen a suspicious person leave a large and heavy bag behind in a tube station, and is now almost certain that he can hear a ticking sound.

That's why he needs to drink so much, of course. 

To drown out the quiet tick-tocking of oblivion that fills his head as he watches. But he can't take his eyes off the screen.

Take a moment out to look at him. Smart but semi-casual. A suit, light tan and co-ordinated with a red-ish tie. Suit jacket on the counter, next to the empty glasses. The tie's been loosened, the top buttons on the shirt undone. He must have come straight from work. A briefcase is next to him on the floor, and it all looks very smart.

Tick.

There's a name on a tag stuck to his shirt. Steven. 

Steven is drunk. 

And someone is watching him. 

Not casually, mind you. And he definitely couldn't be described as enigmatic. 

Tick.

So, not enigmatic then. And not casual, although he seems to be trying. He is sitting in front of a newspaper, the paper spread to hide his face. 

He watches almost cautiously, occasionally glancing elsewhere. The windows, doors, and the telephone too for some reason all appear to be highly suspicious. 

Of course, so is he.

Like our friend Steve, he is wearing a suit. It's a not-very-attractive dark grey, with a black tie. Unlike Steve, he doesn't look like he just came off work. 

He looks like he's still _at _work. 

He is. 

Tick.

Steven doesn't appear to notice him, but then, Steven appears to be at the stage where he is unable to notice anything much. He's still watching the t.v., though. 

The news flashes up a list of headlines, and Steven shakes his head and signals for the bartender to get him another drink. The bartender shakes his head. 

"Come on, now, you can barely stand as it is. I think you've had enough." Steve blinks at him, very slowly, and shakes his head. When he answers it's as if every word requires immense concentration. 

"Gimme one for the road, then." The barman is staring at him oddly now; this obviously isn't normal behaviour. He shakes his head sadly. 

"You better get on, Steve. It's clouding up again. Gonna rain soon."

Tick.

Across the room, the man in the suit carefully folds the paper into a neat rectangle, and gets up to leave. 

Steve shrugs, then a sudden look of panic spreads across his face like oil over water. 

"Clouds?" Now this is strange, so much dread and feeling into such an innocent word.

The barman seems shocked by Steve's sudden terror, and puts a calming hand on his arm. 

"It's just rain, Steve. Nothing to worry about." Steve doesn't seem reassured as he gets up to go. 

"...they cover the sky." Steve seems badly out of it now, not drunk but ... odd. 

Tick.

The man in the suit is stood next to Steve now, having walked across the room. His face, no longer hidden behind the newspaper is vaguely familiar.

Steve seems to blink and come to a little. "We're all doomed." He shrugs and makes to stagger away, but the man in a suit stops him.

"Why?"

Tick.

The barman sighs and goes away to serve some else, leaving Steve to stare blankly at this new intrusion. 

"Don't you watch the news?" Man a suit nods, just a little, encouraging Steve to go on. 

"It's the Artificial Intelligence. There they are, backslapping and cheering and shit. Huh. They don't know what's going on. They don't know shit." 

Man in a suit appears to disapprove of this statement a little, and he says as much. 

"And you do?" At this Steve appears to become confused. He shrugs, looks away and at the floor. He doesn't want to say whatever it is, but he may have to. 

Tick. 

Finally, he gives up the unwilling struggle. 

"Of course I do. I was the main wossit. Thingy, you know, with numbers and stuff." Man in a suit looks blank. He's good at that. "You know. Like, ideas guy? Concept programmer!" He waits, blinking wearily, for a reply. Man in a suit appears surprised at this. 

"You?" His voice is faintly disgusted, contemptuous. 

"Yeah, me. I've doomed humanity." Steven laughs as if at a hilarious joke, pounding his fist on the table. Man in a suit looks unamused. 

"How do you know?" Now man in a suit is being careful, like walking on eggshells or thin ice, each word picked with painful precision. 

Now Steven appears very faintly worried. He knows he's done something wrong, though he doesn't yet know how. 

Tick.

"I don't know." Trying to get out of it, escape the intense scrutiny. But man in a suit isn't going to accept a blank refusal, he wants details. 

"I think it was more my friends, really." Man in a suit shrugs. This isn't what hew wants to hear, and he makes to move off when something happens. 

Tick.

Call it unexpected, if you want. Certainly Steven didn't know it was going to happen, but then, he doesn't seem too bothered by it yet. Man in a suit is clearly upset by it, but appears to have been waiting for it to happen. 

Tick.

The door opens, and a man walks in. 

With him he brings a whistling wind and driving rain, which try to whisk the door out of his grasp as he enters, but the odd thing is that he isn't wet. 

His clothes are black, from head to toe, matching his hair and sunglasses. 

Normally people might find it odd that he wears sunglasses late at night in the rain, but for some reason no-one has noticed, or at least no-one comments. 

Of course, this could be due to the trenchcoat. After all, there could be anything under there. 

Tick.

He walks over to man in a suit, takes off his glasses and coat and lays them on the bar. 

Tick.

Man in a suit gives him a blank stare and reaches into his pocket with a well-practised motion. He puts on a pair of plain black sunglasses and turns t leave. 

Tick.

Steve isn't bothered by the man's hurried departure, but the man with the trenchcoat seems a little put out. He shrugs and turned to Steve. 

Tick.

"Hello Steve." 

Steve doesn't appear bothered by this either; he isn't interested in pointless arguments. SO he nods, just slightly, to indicate that he wasn't being rude, he's just too drunk to be bothered saying hello to people he doesn't even know. 

Tick.

"You've got to listen to me Steve. It's important that you understand." Now Steve is interested despite himself. He turns to look suspiciously at the man with a trenchcoat. 

Tick.

"Understand what?" He manages through lips that don't seem to want to work. 

Tick.

"The project must be stopped. I'm sorry." He adds this on almost as an after though, but he does seem genuinely regretful about something. 

Tick. 

And that's when Steve starts to worry. 

Tick.

The man with a trenchcoat is upset, regretful looking. But why? He hasn't done anything that Steve can see to warrant it. And why should he be after stopping the project? It was already finished. He was far, far too late. 

Tick. 

Man with a trenchcoat looks around at the other people in the bar. They're playing cards, arguing, reading, giggling and drinking, all of them, it seems, having a better time than Steve. He sighs, and man with a trenchcoat sighs. Mournfully, almost. 

Tick.

Steve is worried now. He tries to make some sense of the situation. 

"Uh, hey-" But man with a trenchcoat is having non of it. 

Tick. 

He just shakes his head. 

Tick.

"I really am sorry about this."

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

tick.

tick.

tick

tick

tick

tick

...

...

..

.

************

Boom.

The noise is of that special white-hot searing qualitly, the sort that blinds and deafens you all at once, and it is the sound of the bar exploding. 

To be continued.....

Maybe, perhaps and only if I get some sort of feedback. No, really. I mean it.


	2. Colin's Story

Colin's Story

It is late, or possibly early.  Heavy grey clouds are just being lightened by the sun as it rises and the air is freezing. 

Odd, then, to find a person outside, not doing anything or going anywhere.  A man is sitting on a low stone wall outside an English pub, glaring at the sign swinging in the rapidly rising breeze.

He's humming a tune under his breath.

Looking at him he could be any of the many odd leftovers from the night before still wandering the streets.  He has the jaundiced look of the heavy drinker, bloodshot eyes and swollen nose.  Rumpled brown hair, like he's just woken up, but the bags under his eyes state that he hasn't actually slept at all.  He's wearing a suit, badly creased and grubby but still recognisable, so he could be the remnant of some work's do.  A small label affixed to his jacket identifies him as Colin, an employee of MedTech company.  

Colin is in trouble.

The cause of his trouble is only now striding across the car park, dressed immaculately in dark grey suit-and-tie, dark hair slicked flat to his head and seemingly co-ordinated with midnight sunglasses.  

Colin hasn't seen him yet, but he already looks worried.  He fidgets, glancing fearfully up at the sky where the sun is only now making an appearance, then sighs with apparent relief as the first rays break through the clouds.  

The suit and tie man is now standing directly behind Colin, but Colin hasn't looked round yet.  He knows someone's there, though, and stops humming.  

Suit-and-tie man coughs politely, a little diplomatic ahem, but Colin doesn't look up, or turn around.  He's forced to try another tack.  

"What are you doing here?" 

 The accent is near-perfect 1950's BBC, with a peculiar hint of something other.  Constanants seem to linger a little, rather oddly, but each and every syllable is pronounced.  

Colin shrugs.  

"What're _you doin' here?"_

Suit-and-tie man sighs.  

"Just answer the question, please."  Colin turns round to squint irritably at the suit and tie man.  

"I'm just waiting for a friend.  Not against the law, is it?" His argumentative, whiney tone seems to offend the suit and tie man, who stands up stiffly and adjusts the cuffs on his shirt.  

"You are Colin Whitehead, graphics designer for the project, are you not?"  Colin gapes like a fish before regaining his scanty control over his facial muscles and nodding vaguely. 

The suit and tie man smiles, and you can almost hear his face creak under the strain. 

"Who're you?"  The suit and tie man shrugs.  

"A friend."  Now Colin appears worried. 

"My friend? Or somebody else's?"  Perceptive as well.  More so than you'd expect, for the way he looks.

Suit and tie man raises his eyebrows imperceptibly.  

"I'm just generally a friendly person."  Colin sniggers, and you can see why.  With his pristine suit and peculiar mannerisms, it doesn't seem as though suit and tie man could be anyone's friend.  

"So, Colin.  What are you doing out here at this time of night?" There is an underlying threat to this innocent inquiry as the suit and tie man absently adjusts his sleeves. 

Colin shrugs.  

"I went out with some friends for a drink, and it was so nice out here I thought I'd stay and watch the sunrise."  The suit and tie man frowns as though puzzled.

"You have a flat or apartment?  Somewhere to stay?"  Colin nods uncertainly.  

"Yeah, I've, uhm, got a flat.  I, er, don't like it much, I don't stay there very often."  Suit and tie man frowns again, demanding he explain.  Colin shrugs again.  "Well, I'm claustrophobic, you see, and it always seems really small so I like to stay out here."  Suit and tie man nods, opens his mouth to speak.

And stops.  

Standing on the other side of the car park is a woman.  Black hair, sunglasses, black clothes, skin like paper and wearing a leather trench coat.  Motor biking boots.  

Colin notices her and stares like a sheep in headlights.  He can't take his eyes off her boots; they seem to worry him somehow.  

The suit and tie man reaches into a pocket, pulls out his sunglasses, puts them on in a well-practiced gesture.  Sunlight breaks through the now heavy cloud and highlights Colin's nervousness.  

He shivers, then says; "Uhm, hello?"  The woman walks over and looks him up and down critically, then turns to face the suit and tie man.  She doesn't say anything, but her body language is clear.  _Go away._

He turns to leave and Colin seems to wake up.  It's like looking at a parked car and then someone turns the headlamps on.  He looks about him, and frowns suddenly.

"I know what happened to Steve.  I know who you are.  I know what you want to do.  But you can't stop the project.  You're too late.  Way too late."  He frowns again as though puzzled by his own words and glares up at the suit and tie man standing over him.  

"Too late for what?  Why? What have you done?"  The suit and tie man gives the woman in leather a superior glare, but Colin secretly wonders if he isn't just as puzzled about all this as she was.  Surprised, he realises her questions were addressed to him and shook his head.  

"I don't know.  I'm sorry, I can't remember.  I think…" His voice trails off as realization strikes him. 

 Look at the people you're talking to, Colin.  You've never seen them before, but they know you, they know you too well.  And look at that coat she's wearing, look at the boots.  Come on, you know why people wear clothes like that.

Vague nervousness is replaced by true fear as he looks about him at his companions and, for a moment, almost sees who they really are.  To them, he isn't anything, just a way in.  He has no knowledge as to where this thought comes from, but it sinks into his mind like change in a muddy fountain.  

He stands up.  The suit and tie man is busy practicing his amazing glare on the trench coat woman, and they both seem a little preoccupied.  

Colin decides to run for it, and does.

He doesn't get very far.  


	3. Interlude: A Young man and a guy in a su...

Another, different night, and a different bar, but no less dark and cold for all that.  Driving rain outside, and inside a young man is propping up the bar.  Different sizes and shapes of glasses are stacked around him, some empty, some nearly full and many in various stages in between.  

He is wearing a plain white t-shirt, ordinary jeans and non-descript brown boots.  No nametags, no easy identifiers, looking at him he could be anybody.

Obviously, that is the whole point.  

Despite the fact that the clock above the bar shows a time which could either be very, very late or extremely early, despite the rain and darkness outside, despite even the pub itself, which is dimly lit, stained with nicotine and so generally dingy that it appears overcrowded even when there is no-one else here, the young man is not alone.

Sitting neatly at the other end of the bar is a man in a plain grey/black suit.  He is watching.  Not anything in particular, just everything in general- the walls, windows, doors, telephones and the bartender, who is now feeling nervous.  The one and the only thing that the man in a suit is obviously not watching is the young, plain man.  Man in a suit has not even glanced in his direction, not once.

This seems more than a little odd.  

The young man at the bar, who is patiently working his way through every single type and combination of alcoholic beverage available, both over the counter and under it, is not a worrying figure.  The man in the suit, however, exudes such an air of quiet menace that his obvious avoidance of the young man is left entirely unexplained.  

That he could be frightened is unthinkable, so this must just be caution.  Obviously he knows something about the young man that is not common knowledge.  

Obviously.  

Finally the young man sighs, reaches into his pocket, and pays the bartender wordlessly.  He gives exact change, and gets up to leave.  

The man in a suit arises at the same time and stands so that, in the small crowded room, he blocks the exit.  

Tension hangs in the air.

The young man is the first to move.  He relaxes, and smiles, a genuine friendly smile.

Man in a suit does not smile.  

"Why do this? What do you hope to achieve?" It is the man in a suit who has spoken, his voice clear and precise.

The young man shrugs.  The message is clear- he doesn't care what man in a suit thinks of him.

"It is a waste of time."  Man in a suit states this, not as opinion, but as carefully considered fact.  

Young man shrugs again.

 "So?"  The perfect teenager's inflection- arrogance and stubbornness are included there, along with an unhealthy dose of like-I-care.

Man in a suit is clearly unimpressed.  

"That doesn't mean anything." 

"I do it because I enjoy it.  And because you don't. Now if you'll excuse me…" He moves as if to leave, and man in a suit blocks his escape.

"They are tracking you."  

The young man is apparently shocked by this news.  He stares at man in a suit, eyes wide.  

Surprisingly expressive, considering.  

"How?" He asks weakly.  Man in a suit shakes his head.  

"The project and the company.  The only thing which keeps you safe is their ignorance- they think the project is still unfinished."  The young man nods.

"Then I suppose I will have to get involved.  Thank you."   Man in a suit doesn't appear to appreciate the young man's manners, but he still stands aside to let him pass.

As he does so, the young man grins.  

"Oh, and thanks for the drinks."  Man in a suit looks rattled by this, but it's too late for him to say anything about it now, as the young man has already left.  

"The bartender looks at him worriedly.

"Hey, er, listen.  About the bill-"


	4. Robyn's Story

Brief note; Sorry guys, I just don't know what's going on with this fic.  I can't seem to stop writing it, and my other fics are suffering.  Promise I'll update everything else really soon. 

Ooh, yeah.  Disclaimer needed, I forgot.  I do not own any of the characters in this fic who have appeared in the matrix films, nor do I own the matrix world, and some of the ideas which The Project revolves around have been borrowed from the amazing William Gibson (most notably Virtual Light and Idoru, but Neuromancer, Count Zero and some others I can't remember also had an effect).  I'm sure you'll spot them when they come up.  The main thing I own is the style, of which I'm more than a little proud.

Hmm.  Additional note thingummy- I have spell checked this one, in proper English english, so if any of the words are wrong then it's either an optical illusion or because you're using strange American spelling.

And so, on with the story…

~^~^~^~^~^~^~

There is a lone figure, perched precariously on the edge of a park bench, huddled up against the winter's damp, icy wind.  A laptop is balanced on the figure's knee and gloved fingers dance across the keys as light as promised snow.  The constant clicking of the keys disturbs the otherwise silent evening.

A brief gust of wind snatches the figures hood from its head and reveals it to be a woman, mid-twenties, looking utterly exhausted.  Bags under her eyes, eyes redder than just the wind could make them. Obviously, she's been crying, but she's stopped just now.  

Looking at her, anyone could see she's a mess.  Straggly hair, red eyes, ugly but undoubtedly warm heavy clothing.  Anyone could see she's upset, if anyone was watching.

As she continues the clicking of the keyboard it can be seen that someone is watching.  

Someone is always watching, of course, it's impossible to get away from that here, but this is a specific someone.  

He's crossing the park just now, hands in pockets against the cold.  Plain brown hair ruffled in the wind, plain white t-shirt, plain blue jeans, plain brown boots.  

Plainly, he doesn't want to be recognised.  

He reaches the woman and clears his throat uncertainly.  Standing there he looks just like an embarrassed teenager, whose been forced to apologise for something he isn't sorry for.

She looks up.  

"What?  Who are you, what do you want?" She runs the words together nervously, then sits still staring at him, waiting for a response.  When he finally speaks, it's as if the words must travel a great distance just to get said.

"You're in trouble.  You should go."  She stares.  

"Go? Go where? Why? What's going on?"  It seems to take him a couple of minutes to untangle her questions.  

"Anywhere not here.  Some people are coming to see you." Now she seems perplexed, but not worried.  Not yet.  

"Who's coming to see me?  Who are you?"  Again, the multiple questions cause him problems and she has to wait, plainly impatient, for an answer.

"Two people are coming.  Two different… factions.  One wants to talk to you and find out, as you do, what is going on.  The other will try to kill you."  Now she is worried.  Strangely, the queries she makes are clearer when she is nervous.

"How will I know which is which?"  He shrugs.

"I don't know.  I don't know what you will see when you meet them, only what I perceive to be true.  And I don't know which will arrive first, so you should go."

She frowns.  

"It's about the project, isn't it?" he nods slowly.  "But how are you involved?  I don't know you." Now he shakes his head and sighs.  

"It is about the project, and I am involved.  I can't tell you any more than that."  She stands up as he talks and carefully packs the laptop into its bag.  

"But who are you?"  He shakes his head again.   

"Dave."  She stares at him oddly and he smiles, a genuine grin that seems more frightening than any strange news.  

"You should go, quickly."  She nods uncertainly and leaves, quickly.  Better to go than stay there with possible strange people coming to get her and one strange person definitely already there.  

He watches her until she is a distant figure disappearing around a corner wall and smiles to himself.  

Then something rudely interrupts his pleased reverie.  

It's a hand, clenching his t-shirt under his chin and forcing him back up against the bench.

The hand belongs to some guy in a trenchcoat, who looks at Dave critically, then drops him unceremoniously. 

"Where did she go."  It isn't a question; it's a threat and all the more worrying that the guy doesn't seem to feel that he needs to make the threat plain.  Dave grins cheerfully.

"I don't know, and if I did I wouldn't tell you."  There is a flurry of movement, and a click.  Anyone who's seen the guy in the trenchcoat before would be happy to know that they were right.  There could be 'anything under there', if anything translates as a gun.  

The grin hasn't left Dave's face, which seems to puzzle the man in the trenchcoat a little.  Dave stands and adjusts his t-shirt carefully.

"I know who you are, and I know what you have been doing.  I don't know why, but then I don't think you know that either.  I know you, and if you don't stop this so will everyone I know."  Man in a trenchcoat looks annoyed.  

"I assure you, unless you tell me where she is, you won't be telling anyone anything ever again."

Dave shakes his head sadly.  "There is nothing you can take from me or give me that could make me help you or stop me from telling everyone who and what you are.  Knowledge is power, and I know you." Now man in a trenchcoat looks angrier, but cautious.  Maybe some of it went in.  He shrugs, like it's all the same to him.  He's so cool, he doesn't need to care.

He turns and strides away.  Going in the wrong direction, but he doesn't know that and Dave certainly isn't about to tell him.

A crunch of gravel behind him and he turns around almost lazily to confront this new intruder.

It's a man in a suit.  Black tie, jacket, hair, sunglasses.  He gives Dave a look, then takes the sunglasses of.  Brown eyes glint strangely and Dave takes a step back.  Clearly this, at least, was unexpected.  

"Uh, where's the usual guy?  You must know him.  He's about so tall, wears a black tie, suit, sunglasses-"  The new man in a suit shakes his head impatiently.

"He has- retired.  I will be heading this- investigation now."  Dave stares at him.  Maybe it's the oddly misplaced pauses in the conversation, but he sounds a lot more menacing than the other one did.  Less human.  

"Oh, right.  Well, nice to meet you anyway.  I'll just be going then.  Bye."  As he speaks Dave backs away, then suddenly turns and flees.  The man in a suit sets out after him, but Dave, moving surprisingly unexpectedly fast, has already reached the tree line at the edge of the park.

When the man in a suit reaches the trees, Dave is gone.  

Footprint sunk deep into the thick cold muddy ground lead up to a small space between two tree, then stop.   

No prints lead away.  

^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~

next chapter coming soon!  Give me your opinions- should I include some characters from Reloaded and Revolutions or not?  Review or email and tell me!


	5. Interlude Damned Knowitall

 Okay,  this went a bit strange. I did warn you I might use stuff from William Gibson's work.  But Fear Not!  All the main characters in this story type thingummy are either matrix or made up, so if you haven't read William Gibson's amazing cyberspace matrix books you'll be okay.  But you should read them, really.  

I need feedback, talk to me people!

 Disclaimer, I don't own the Finn or the Matrix.  But Dave is mine, all mine.  

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^^

Interlude- Damned Knowitall

And now he is somewhere else.  

Dave is walking, apparently unhurriedly, through a park.  It clearly is not the same park as before, but it looks similar.  Green grass, trees, blue sky.  Warmer, and without the hint of snow and rheumatism that was present in the other park.  It's spring here, a perfect springtime day.  

Despite the fine weather, Dave doesn't look too happy.  He seems surprised, curious and nervous.  He keeps on looking over his shoulder as though the man in a suit is going to chase through the invisible boundary between here and there.

He's heading towards the lake on the other side of the park, but as he gets closer something odd seems to happen.  

Something very odd indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Vertigo, confusion and a swirl of other, stranger shapes bring him back to a different consciousness.

The park is gone, the lake and the other strangeness disappeared.  He's in a familiar place now, an abandoned looking street outside an old apartment block.  

To some certain people, the door should seem very familiar.

He goes in and enters an elevator, the graffiti overlaying the walls like something else he once saw. 

There is a sense of watchfulness about him, of waiting and anticipation.

He's going to see an old new friend.

~~~~~^^^~~~

Arriving at the door it opens pre-emptively.  He is carefully ushered through to what seems to be the centre of the place, an old but large kitchen filled with the smell of food.

The creator of the food smell is fussing over the oven, but she turns to greet the scruffy teen.  She's old, with a cheerfully raisined face and starting to go steel grey hair.  Somehow, she exudes an air of knowledge.  She seems content, old and wise and happy in the knowledge that she knows the whats and the whos of the world she lives in.  

She smiles at him, welcoming, and asks what she can do for him.  

Dave considers this question for quite some time, whilst a clock mounted on the wall ticks the seconds off.

Eventually he comes to an answer.

"I know who you are."  It isn't a threat, though it could be taken as one.  It sounds like a simple statement, and he looks as if he is waiting for her to respond.  Calmly, quietly.  No worry in him.

Even to the woman who knows, the situation appears odd.  You can see it in her posture, her expression, everything about her says 'What the hell?'. 

 Everything bar her mouth, which says quietly "And what do you mean by that?"

Dave shrugs, entirely un-threatening.  Maybe it's just a show, but if it is it's a very convincing one.

"That wasn't quite right." He apologises. "I guess I meant 'I know who you were.'."

Now she isn't confused.  Her expression freezes up, becomes a far less friendly, far less knowledgeable mask.  

"If you're trying to use that as a threat I'm afraid it won't work.  300 years is a very long time."  Dave shakes his head urgently.

"It isn't a threat, or blackmail or anything.  I just wondered if you could help me."  

"All I can tell you is what might happen-" 

"Don't do the Oracle thing on me.  I don't want the Oracle's help."  She gives him a look.  As he spoke she seemed to lose something.  She no longer seems quite so wise, not as mysterious and decidedly less all-knowing.  

"Okay, fine.  You want me to distract them?"  

Something about her accent has changed drastically, become completely unplaceable yet undeniably strong and strange.

He smiles, suddenly cheerful. 

"Just for a bit, until I get this all figured out."  The Oracle gives him a very un-Oracle-like smile.

"You realise it's gonna cost ya?"  Now it's Dave's turn to be surprised.  Not just the change in her speech, but the question itself.

The not-very-Oracle smiles again.  

"I deal in information.  Best currency in the wor- wherever.  But this thing, the project, no-one knows nothing about it.  So, I'll make you a deal.  You tell me all about it, and about you, and what's going on, and I'll help."  Dave gives her a look.

"Doesn't this all seem a bit ridiculous to you?"  The not exactly oracle smiled in a not very pleasant way.

"What, that I wanna know?  You ever considered just how boring it is to be practically immortal?  I've been alive since Before It Changed, since before the matrix proper even existed; when I was alive cyberspace was just a sort of 3D internet.  I'm bored.  Old and tired and goddamn bored."  Dave gawped at her.  

"What do you mean, when you were alive?" The almost Oracle  gave him a ghost of her former knowing smirk.

"When I was alive." Dave continued to gawp.  "I died.  Old age I guess, the body just gives up.  Not that I'd exactly treated it well, you know.  I wanted to live for ever, so I put in a sort of insurance.  When I died I was made into a resident A.I., with contact in the real world through an old interface and access to cyberspace.  The interface is what started me on the road to being an Oracle, I guess.  People still asked me for advice and stuff even though I was dead.  The cyberspace was more help after that, it let me keep an eye on some friends."  Dave stared at her, fascinated.

"What happened to your friends?"  Nearly oracle shrugged.

"We all went out to investigate something strange.  I thought it was aliens or something, I don't know what, time was hard to judge in the old matrix.  We got there and it was just this big A.I., all iced up, black ice and this other shit, don't know what it was, really bad anyway, and it saw us, I don't know how.  And that's it.  Woke up in an apartment in a world that was 100 years in my past, no-one noticing or anything.  I looked for them, found nothing.  Just these little A.I.s that worked for the big ones, like some sort of government or something.  Saw something that looked like the Dixie flatline once, but I couldn't catch him.  He was iced over in storage, really odd."  Not-quite-knowing woman stopped reminiscing abruptly.  

"SO, you got my story, how about yours?"  Dave was still gawping.  He looked a little awed, and the almost oracle seemed to take pity on him.  

"Okay, relax.  What's your name?"  

"Dave."

"Right Dave. People used to call me the Finn. Tell me about yourself, why don't you."

~~^^^^^^^^^^~~~~~^~^~^~^


End file.
